Beyond Good and Evil
by RezEx
Summary: Or: The life of a Dark Lord - Harry's fifth year from a different point of view. Please R&R! - Ch. 4: Council meeting and new toys.
1. A Whiter Shade of Pale

**Beyond Good and Evil**

************  
_"There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seak it."_   
************

  
Chapter 1 – A Whiter Shade of Pale

  
The night air was cold and silent. A cloud of pure white steam hanging above an enormous cauldron emitted some light into the otherwise dark graveyard. It shone upon a tall, thin figure, standing motionlessly, his white face contrasting with his black robe. Among the graves moved a large dark mass, which upon closer inspection turned out to be a large group of black robed, hooded men. They were shuffling hesitantly towards the silent man. 

  
In the quickly diminishing light the Dark Lord's black-clad body merged with the background of dark tombstones and the night sky, making it look like a grotesque pale face was hovering above the ground. The boiling sound that came from the cauldron was the only sound that interrupted the eerie silence. Voldemort stood motionlessly, waiting. The only thing that betrayed his state of mind was the mad gleam in his eyes, brightly burning with a dangerous red light.

  
Horrified fear visible through their masks, the Dark Lord's Death Eaters gathered before him. They were silent, afraid to draw their master's attention. They waited with their heads lowered, occasionally sneaking glances at the distorted, snakelike face. They waited for him to speak, to punish; they expected to hear the dull thud of a lifeless body hitting the ground at any moment.

  
The Dark Lord had to strain so hard to control himself it actually pained him. He had a strong mind to kill each and every one of the fools, but he knew he could not. What a disaster! He had planned for this night so carefully, anticipated it for years, meticulously plotting every move, planning for every eventuality. To see his plans crossed by a simple twist of fate – it was enough to make him scream in anger, it was almost enough to make him lose control. If Dumbledore heard of his return… all his carefully crafted plans could be thrown away, and his newly regained life would become infinitely more difficult.

  
Killing one or two of his followers would surely make him feel better, but he needed them more than ever now. He was aware that Dumbledore would make it very hard to find new members for his army. Anyway, he had to admit to himself that the boy's escape was no more their fault than it was his. Still, maybe a nice bit of torture… but no, now was not the time.

  
He could hardly believe what had happened. After his resurrection, which surprisingly happened flawless, almost all of his Death Eaters had returned. That was surprising enough, as they had all failed him miserably after his disappearance. He had Harry Potter completely in his power, he had at last gotten rid of the protection the boy's mother had installed in him, and he planned to give him a nice and painful death. And just when everything seemed to be going his way, Harry Potter managed to escape him – again. He doubted he would ever get such a good chance to kill the boy again, and he had very good reasons to want him dead.

  
He still could not comprehend how a half-blood boy with no particular talent could defeat him time and time again. It defied all logic, and if Lord Voldemort had believed in a power greater then himself he would have thought it must have been meddling. First an unexpected piece of powerful magic from the boy's mother – he had not expected that. No, he _could_ not have expected it, he corrected himself. It was such a complicated and obscure branch of magic that even he didn't know much about it. He wondered where that Potter woman had learned it, though; one of the things that had kept him busy the past thirteen years.

  
And again tonight, when he thought the boy's luck had at last run out, something small, seemingly coincidental had saved Harry Potter. It had taken Voldemort a few lethal moments to understand what it was; when he finally recognized it for what it was, it was too late. The young wizard was gone, and there was nobody he could blame – for who could have none he and Harry Potter shared brother wands?

  
The Dark Lord knew he had to move. His own safety was obviously his main priority, and he could not afford to stay in one place for long. He wouldn't let the incompetent Death Eaters get away that easy, though. He glared malevolently at the black crowd in front of him.

  
" You fools!"

  
His cold voice snapped through the silence, and a collective shiver ran through the gathered Death Eaters.

  
" A boy… a tortured, foolish, limping boy! And you, you fools, couldn't even stop him from running half way across this graveyard and reaching that portkey! I will –"

  
The Dark Lord stopped for dramatic effect, and enjoyed the fear he felt radiating from the hooded crowd.

  
" I will deal with you later. My faithful servant at Hogwarts may still be able to finish the boy off like you could not, but we must prepare for the worst. We must leave now, for it may not take Dumbledore long to find out what happened. You will all return home and wait for my orders. I will call for you soon."

  
And with a last contemptuous glance Voldemort disapparated, leaving the Death Eaters speechless. The hooded figures exchanged a few looks, but no words, before the graveyard filled with the sound of rapidly exploding firecrackers as the Death Eaters disappeared.

  
***

  
Voldemort reapparated in a clearing in a forest near Turda in Transsylvania. Before he had lost his powers this had been an ideal hideout, because the cooperation between the magical community here and the rest of the world had been made difficult because of Muggle political problems. However, the world had changed while he floated around without a body, and he was not sure if the place was as save as it used to be. He raised his wand and casted a strong detection charm, making sure there would be no surprises. When he was sure he would be safe he moved over to a large boulder and tapped his wand on the mossy surface. A small dark hole appeared where his wand touched the surface, and with a soft rushing sound it expanded until it was about two foot in diameter. A narrow ladder led down into the darkness.

  
After slowly descending the ladder Voldemort touched down onto the soppy ground with a squishing sound. He sniffed, and his nostrils filled with the decaying smell of rotting leaves. Since he was in total darkness, the opening he came in through only a small patch of starry sky in the ceiling, he supposed it was best to make some light first. He conjured a brightly shining lamp and magically sealed it to the ceiling.

  
The room he found himself in did not do much to lift his spirits. The floor was covered in a thick layer of vegetation, and his feet had sunk deep into the moist pulp. The walls consisted of bare rough stone and had plants and mold all over them, and the room was littered with old, broken pieces of furniture. He had not used this place in fifteen years, and it showed. With a sigh, the Dark Lord raised his wand high and got to work.

  
When he was done, he plopped down in a comfortable, high-backed chair feeling a little more content. He looked around, and decided his conjuring skills were quite as good as they used to be. The room was dry and warm, the nauseating smell was gone. The walls were lined with soft tapestry, he had conjured up a roomful of furniture, as well as a table filled with food.

  
The enormous setback Harry Potter's escape had caused started to feel less painful as soon as he dug into his dinner. It felt better then anything he had experienced in a very, very long while – apart from the feeling of having a real body again, he corrected himself. He had never thought about eating, sleeping or other such comforts as particularly pleasurable, until he had had to miss it for fourteen year. He picked up his wand, and for the first time in all those years he felt it like he had always felt it before, like it was a natural part of his body. He had always considered his body a bit of a hindrance, a mere vessel for his magnificent mind. However, when he had lost his body he had found his mind was not much use without it.

  
The night he lost his body… it had been the worst thing he had ever experienced. In all his long life of experimenting with the Black Arts he had undergone many painful transformations, but he had never even imagined anything like it. It was not just physical pain, but the surprise of it, and the endless despair… the feeling all his hard work was for nothing, the humiliation of being beaten by a year old infant. He had feared his attempts to attain immortality had been for nothing, that he was going to die, and he felt like all his hopes and dreams were being ripped away. Then he had disappeared into a black forgetfulness, for how long he had not known… Until he had one day experienced a spark of consciousness. He couldn't see, hear, feel or think, but he had known he was not completely gone; he was, to some extent, alive.

  
When he began to gain more consciousness he became more aware of the fact that he was still in this world, and he felt some hope. His experiments had worked, as he was not dead, and he started to think it might be possible to regain what he had lost. He was not more than a shadow of his former self, but he was able to move around, albeit slowly, he was as cunning as ever, and as he soon discovered, he could possess all sorts of creatures for a temporary relief from his cold, floating spirit form. Knowing he could not have been forgotten, and that his strengthening spirit might be detected, he hid in a forest in Albania, far away from the Aurors from the Ministry of Magic. He had been certain his loyal followers would come to his aid, and so he waited…

  
After a while he fell into an endless routine of possessing small animals to sustain his spirit, and he lost all sense of time. He had waited for an eternity, or so it seemed, in endless torture, without sleep or food, without the power to do anything at all, and he lost hope once more. He cursed everything; he cursed himself for suffering defeat at the hand of a little boy, he cursed his Death Eaters for forgetting him, and above all, he cursed the boy who lived.

  
He lost all track of time, and he was getting to the point where he could no longer sustain himself, when finally the tables appeared to have turned. A foolish young wizard wandered into his forest, and at first he was just happy to have found something besides squirrels to feed on. When he found out the man was a teacher at Hogwarts he couldn't believe his luck, and he was truly ecstatic when he learned the fabled philosopher's stone was at Hogwarts. He believed that he was not only going to get his body back, but was also going to reach the goal he had worked for all his life, immortality, in the easiest way imaginable.

  
However, such was not to be the fate of the great Lord Voldemort. Harry Potter crossed him again, and again he survived. Voldemort had to return to his hiding place, defeated and with even less hope for the future. For now Dumbledore knew about his current form, and he couldn't undertake anything without help from a capable wizard.

  
Fortunately, he knew his failed attempt to get the philosopher's stone could not have gone unnoticed. Now that it was known he was still alive, he had some hope again that one of his Death Eaters would find him. However, it was not until after more years of pain and hunger, completely cut off from the rest off the world, that he finally encountered one of his followers in the forest. After the initial surge of joy, he was disappointed once more. Wormtail was not much of a wizard, and all he could do was give him some pathetic excuse for a body that could never last long without Wormtails constant care. Wormtail had managed to bring Bertha Jorkins to him, though, and with the information he extracted from her a plan started to come together.

  
He had felt a lot better while he was preparing his return. Though he was still weak and depending on Wormtail, at least he now had a clear goal to work towards. He had doubted he could pull it off, because the plan was very complicated and depended heavily on Barty Crouch, who was unstable to say the least. However, Crouch had accomplished the unthinkable: he had fooled Dumbledore and everybody else at Hogwarts, and had delivered him Harry Potter.

  
And this very night, another miracle had been accomplished: the resurrection potion had worked. He had hoped, but he had not dared to expect it to work. It was very experimental; he had devised the potion himself, and nothing similar had ever been done before. There were no known cases of surviving the Avada Kedavra curse. He had been unimaginably relieved when the potion had worked. He lived – truly lived – once more, and he felt like everything would return to the way it was, and then he would become even more powerful.

  
However, his happiness had been quickly quenched. He was still furious because of Harry Potter's escape, but reason started to gain the upper hand. All in all, he knew he should be quite satisfied with the night's accomplishments. After all, he had learned a long time ago that in every plan at least one thing must go wrong, and he realized it could have been much worse. He was back, his power restored, and he could get over Potter's escape. He had to make new plans, yes, but he was sure that very soon he would have regained enough power to make a grand comeback, and then the world, wizards and muggles alike, would tremble like they had fourteen years ago. 

***


	2. Enemies and Old Friends

*** **Author's Note** ***

Thanks to g21lto for my first review! I'm sorry about any grammatical errors, but English is not my native language.

Also, I have some more chapters ready but I'm still writing, so please read and review and help me make a better story. If you want to be mailed when there is an update please email me at fanfic@zantvoort.nl.

***

"Lucius!"   


Lucius Malfoy turned his head in the direction of the panting voice. Derrick Crabbe's enormous silhouette stood in the doorway of 'The Scuttling Scarab', a somewhat pretentious lunchroom on Diagon Alley. Malfoy, who was sitting in a secluded booth in the corner, motioned for Crabbe to join him.  


"Good afternoon, Derrick," Malfoy said loudly. He looked around inconspicuously. It was past lunchtime, so the place was mostly empty. There were empty plates zooming through the air to the kitchen, directed by a witch standing in the middle of the room. "You attract too much attention to yourself," he added in a low voice after Crabbe had squeezed his body into the opposite seat.  


"Uhm, well, yeah... hard not too, when you're this big," Crabbe said. The stupid grin that usually adorned his face had made way for a half worrying, half serious look, that didn't make Crabbe look any more intelligent in Malfoy's opinion. He sighed. With a shifty look in his eyes that indicated he was about to get to the point, Crabbe whispered: "Uh, I… I need to talk to you, Lucius. About… about 'him'…" His voice trailed off, and he now had a decidedly unhappy look on his face.  


"Have you gone completely mad?" Malfoy answered in a violent hiss. "I can't talk to you now. Leave."  


Crabbe's hesitation was clearly visible. He was not used to disobeying orders, especially not from Malfoy, who had been giving them as long as they knew each other. "Lucius, please – I must – please," he mumbled.  


Malfoy started to speak, then reconsidered and drew out his wand. He pointed it straight up into the air, and muttered: "Occultus." Then he fixed his angry gaze on Crabbe. "At least we can't be overheard now. What do you think you are doing? If he finds out about this, he will not be pleased… he will not be pleased at all." Glaring at Crabbe, who was now examining a particularly interesting spot on the table while muttering under his breath, he added impatiently: "Get on with it then. What do you want?"  


"Lucius… can it – can it be? Can he really be back?"  


Malfoy sighed inwardly as he looked at his mentally challenged friend. Crabbe knew as well as he did that the Dark Lord had returned, but he didn't seem to know how to say what he really wanted to get of his mind.  


"You saw him as you see me now. You heard him talk, you saw him fight the boy. Of course he is back."  


Crabbe hesitated again, before he opened his mouth. "But – how is… I mean, is everything going to go back to normal now? To the way things were, I mean?"  


"The boy's escape will undoubtedly complicate matters. But our master is back, and he will take care of everything. We cannot presume to doubt his capabilities," Malfoy responded with a warning look.  


"But things are different now! I don't know if I want to – I mean… Lucius, I'm afraid! We are suspected, the ministry will watch us, and I don't -"  


Malfoy raised his hand, and Crabbe stopped his rambling immediately. When Malfoy spoke, his voice was cold and forbidding. "You must watch what you say out loud, Derrick. And I advise you not to think any such things in the vicinity of our master either. I hope you are not unsure of your loyalty – we both know what will happen."  


Crabbe's face whitened at these words, making it look like a particularly large ball of dough. His response was frantic: "NO! No, I'd never – Lucius, you know I wouldn't! It's just… I don't know what to do."  


"I would think our orders were very clear. Go about your business as usual until he calls you, and don't speak to anyone about this."  


"Yes, Lucius," Crabbe said submissively.  


"Very well. Now, don't come see me again, and never doubt our Lord again. He will take care of us now. Soon, the good times will return."  


With a last warning look, Malfoy got up and left 'The Scuttling Scarab,' leaving Crabbe sitting at the table, still looking unhappy.  


***  


A few days later a select number of Death Eaters gathered in a meadow that was occupied by nothing but a few sheep. It was late, and the summer sun was at the horizon, casting long shadows across the field. They stood together without talking, apparently waiting for something.  


When the sun had disappeared completely, one of the Death Eaters addressed the others with a cool, arrogant voice: "Everyone is here, I think. The Dark Lord is waiting for us."  


He walked a few steps and spoke to the others over his shoulder: "Follow me." Then he took his wand, pointed it forward and said: "MORDSMORDRE!" Immediately, he appeared to be sucked forward as though through an invisible wall, but he didn't reappear on the other side. The others followed his example.  


***  


Lord Voldemort chuckled maliciously when the robed figure was unceremoniously chucked into the room. "Good evening, Lucius," he said, "do you enjoy my new security measures?"  


"They are very… effective, My Lord," Malfoy responded, while the rest of the Death Eaters were getting to their feet behind him. A look out of the windows showed that the scenery had not changed. They were inside a small cabin in the middle of the field they had just been standing in, though it had not been visible from the outside.  


Voldemort was seated at the head of a massive stone table, the only piece of furniture in the cabin besides eight wooden chairs, which were engraved with the Dark Mark on their backs, and the large stone chair he was sitting in. He motioned to the empty chairs, four on either side of the table, and said: "Sit down."  


When all the chairs had been filled he started to speak: "Unfortunately, my most loyal followers are still locked away in Azkaban. Therefore, the eight of you are to be my temporary council. Not because you deserve it, but because you are the least ill-suited."  


Voldemort saw the shimmer of ambition in every pair of eyes. These eight were not exactly the most blindly obedient or loyal of his followers, power hungry and self-serving as they were, but they were the most capable. It seemed that his most powerful Death Eaters were also the least willing to give their lives for him. However, they knew death at the hands of an Auror was by far preferable to death at the hands of Lord Voldemort, so as long as he was around their fear would keep them in check.  


After Malfoy and the others had professed their eternal gratefulness for their new positions Voldemort motioned for silence and said: "Very well. First, I have not heard from my servant at Hogwarts. I know the Potter boy is not dead, so I must assume he has failed me as well." He looked at Malfoy, who lowered his head. "Lucius… I hear you are still quite the prominent figure. Can you tell me why word of my return hasn't gotten out? Does Dumbledore know?"  


"I'm sorry, my Lord. I am no longer a member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, and Dumbledore doesn't trust me in the least. I have not heard any rumors from the school, however, so I suppose that is a good sign."  


"We'll have to see about that -" Voldemort stopped as the Death Eater at his left raised his hand, and said: "If you would allow me to interrupt, My Lord… I have some important information."  


Voldemort was relieved to hear that _someone_ had something to say. He had been sadly devoid of intelligence while he was recovering from his resurrection. To be able to work in secret the only ones who were in direct contact with him were his Death Eaters, his most trusted followers. Unfortunately, this also meant he himself could only contact the rest of his followers through his Death Eaters. Because of that, it would be difficult to rebuild his network of spies and informers, which had been very widespread before his disappearance. For now, he had to rely on his Death Eaters for information, so he said: "I am listening."  


"I got a message over the old Contacters. It was from your… er… former informant at Hogwarts. He wants to meet with you, My Lord -" He was forced to stop, as Voldemort suddenly surged out of his chair.  


"He _what_? Was there anything else?"  


The Death Eater hesitantly shook his head. Voldemort fell back into his seat.  


"Interesting… yes… I wonder how he will try to get out of this one." He sat in thought for a few moments, before coming to a decision.  


"Very well, I will meet with him. Now is as good as any time to deal with him. DeWitt," he said, addressing the same Death Eater who had delivered the message, "make the necessary arrangements." DeWitt nodded.  


"Now, I have not been able to get much information lately… Macnair, how are things at the ministry?"  


"I'm afraid they don't trust me like they used to, My Lord. I have been shoved off to Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, don't get much word of anything these days."  


Voldemort didn't show his disappointment, but there was a clear edge of impatience to his voice. "We will have to see to it you get a more useful position, then. Still, there must be something you can tell me."  


"Well, it has been very quiet lately. I'm sure you're aware that the ministry has reported the death of a Cedric Diggory 'due to a tragic accident' at Hogwarts. That's all they've been letting out, so either they don't know, or they're keeping it quiet for some reason."  


"It's not as bad as it could have been, then," Voldemort mused. "Malfoy, I hear you have been getting quite friendly with Fudge and his fools."  


"I have, My Lord. It is still the way it has always been. A little money here, an impressive gift there… I daresay I have even more influence now than I had before your… accident." Malfoy looked thoroughly satisfied with himself.  


"Good, it seems they have not learned anything in the last fourteen years. So how would you estimate the strength of Fudge's administration?"  


Malfoy smiled evilly. "I have some good news there. Fudge is a weak, indecisive idiot. He relies heavily on his subordinates, who are far more capable then him, but he believes that he is the clever one, so he pushes through stupid decisions even though his advisors are against it."  


Voldemort nodded: "Tell me more."  


After a short moment's thought, Malfoy continued. "It started right after you disappeared, My Lord. As you well know, Dumbledore and his bunch of admirers had a good idea of who was a Death Eater and who was not. But the ministry decided they wanted to do it 'proper', and every one of us who could not be directly linked to a recent attack was cleared, because of lack of evidence."  


Voldemort cackled lightly. "Ah, yes… justice is rather complicated, isn't it? I'd say my methods are more effective."  


The Death Eaters laughed, although it sounded a little forced. They had experienced the Dark Lord's methods of dealing with those who hesitated to follow his orders firsthand. Malfoy continued.  


"After they heard of your disappearance, the people celebrated. They thought you were gone for good, and the ministry did nothing to make them believe otherwise. There were a few warning voices, Dumbledore among them, of course, but you know how it is – the people believe what they want to believe. The ministry has become even more of a joke since. Fudge used to turn to Dumbledore for advice, but know he thinks he can do it on his own… well, we've all how badly they dealt with the disturbance we created at the World Cup."  


Voldemort was not really surprised to hear this. The Ministry of Magic had always been weakened by bureaucracy, internal strife and the need to follow the rules. The real danger had always come from somewhere else… "What about Dumbledore?"  


The Death Eaters looked at each other, not sure who he had asked. Malfoy was the first to speak: "My Lord?"  


"What has he been up to? He knows at the very least that I'm not dead, has known since I tried to get the philosopher's stone. Hasn't he warned the ministry?"  


"Like I said, Fudge has become increasingly… independent. He doesn't trust Dumbledore like he used to, and he's been turning a deaf ear to anyone who has tried to warn him you might not be gone forever."  


"Interesting. We could be able to use that to our advantage. Does anyone know what Dumbledore himself has been planning? I suppose to hope that he has disbanded his little 'order' would be too much..."  


Again, the Death Eaters exchanged silent glances. Apparently nobody knew much. It was again Malfoy who spoke.  


"I'm sorry, My Lord. We know very little. Dumbledore hasn't let his guard down for a single moment, I'm afraid. He is very particular on who to trust, and we certainly aren't among them. Since he expected you to return, however, I think he must have kept his former group together."  


"_Thank_ you, Lucius," Voldemort interrupted sarcastically. "I could have guessed that much on my own. I hope I will be able to extract something useful out of Snape before I kill him, since you don't seem to be very helpful."  


"Sorry, My Lord," the chorus of Death Eaters muttered.  


"Yes… well, next order of business. As long as we are not sure what Dumbledore knows, we have to be very careful. However, some of the plans I made can still be put into effect. First, I want to persuade all creatures that are sympathetic to our cause to join us, because they won't be likely to alarm the ministry, even if they don't take our offer."  


"So that's the giants and the dementors then, My Lord?" Macnair asked.  


"Yes," Voldemort said to Macnair, "I want you to handle the giants. Inform the ministry you need a leave for a family emergency, and take two Death Eaters with you. I do not know exactly where the giants are, so find them."  


"What offer should I make them, My Lord?"  


"The same offer we made last time. Take some trinkets to appease them, and then tell them they'll get to kill muggles and ministry wizards, and that I will protect them from repercussions."  


"All right, My Lord. I can leave in – 4 days?"  


"Make that two."  


"But -" Voldemort gave Macnair an icy glare. "Yes, My Lord."  


"Now, what about the dementors?" Voldemort said, "I hear the ministry have them firmly under control now. Morgan?"  


One of the Death Eaters that had not said much until now spoke: "That is what they would like everybody to think, My Lord. The Dementors have no loyalty; they defected to the ministry the moment they heard you had disappeared, and they will return to us the moment they hear you are back. They are not happy with the restrictions the ministry has imposed on them. Azkaban is not as full as it used to be, so they are hungry. You don't have to offer them anything but new prey."  


Voldemort was happy to hear that; he had expected the ministry to keep a very close eye on the Dementors. "Surely the ministry knows this, Morgan. Will it be possible to contact the Dementors without the ministry finding out?" he said.  


"It will be difficult," Morgan answered, "but I can do it. It is as Malfoy says: the ministry is weak, they are entirely unprepared."  


The Dark Lord gave a short, grating laugh. "I will be happy to catch them off guard then. Get started on it right away. I want to hear from you within a week."  


The Death Eater named Morgan nodded, and said: "It will be done, My Lord."  


"Good," Voldemort said. "Malfoy; I want you to get close to Fudge, and encourage his distrust of Dumbledore. The rest of you: contact the other Death Eaters, and tell them to get in touch with their old contacts, see who we can still make use of. They have to be careful, as long as the ministry doesn't raise the alarm I don't want to give them any reason to be worried."  


Everyone muttered their assent, and Voldemort said: "We are done for now. You can still contact me through the Dark Mark if you need to. Macnair, you report to me before you leave; Morgan, I want to hear from you as soon as you have accomplished anything."  


The eight Death Eaters rose from their seats, bowed towards Voldemort and left the cabin through the door. When they were gone the Dark Lord waved his wand and vanished, as did the cabin.  


***


	3. Double Agent

**Chapter 3 - Double Agent**

Back in his Transsylvanian hiding place, Voldemort took a small, shrunken human skull out of his pocket. He poked his wand in between its jaws, and a snake of green smoke crinkled out of the skull's mouth. Voldemort closed his eyes and focused his mind on the person he wanted to summon, knowing that the Death Eater in question would feel the Dark Mark burning immediately. 

  
A loud crack echoed in the confined space of the cave when Wormtail apparated. He looked dazedly out of his watery eyes for a moment, glancing around hesitantly. He quickly snapped his eyes back at his master, afraid to displease him by showing to much interest in his surroundings, and bowed low, saying: "How can I be of service, master?"  


Voldemort looked down on him. "It appears you can be of use to me still, Wormtail. I need you to get some supplies for me," he said.

Wormtail straightened, and asked: "But master, why me? You know I can't show myself."

"Well, you are quite fit for menial jobs such as this one, Worm. Besides, you are useless to me for all other purposes, because the world thinks you are dead, and the places you can get these things don't care whether you're alive or not, as long as you bring the galleons," said Voldemort slightly irritated. "Memorize this…" He mentioned a large number of items he needed Wormtail to get for him. "Now go," he concluded.

"Yes, master," Wormtail mumbled, and he bowed again before he disapparated.

  
Voldemort felt a lot better now that he was occupied again, carrying out plans. After years of idleness just the feeling of being alive, having a goal to work towards, was enough to make him feel incredible. He sat down in his high-backed chair and sunk into silent contemplation, considering the information his new council had given him.

  
He had been particularly pleased to learn of the ministry's weakness. He had expected them to be a lot stronger, because the ministry had been constantly gaining strength after his first rise to power. A lot of the aurors and officials that had thwarted him then would still work there now, so he wondered just how stupid Fudge and the rest of the wizarding world had to be to ignore their advice. They were making the same mistakes all over again. Voldemort grimaced. It had to be the influence of the mudbloods, perverting old wizard bloodlines all over the place.

  
He had seen it all happen before, of course. When he had been at Hogwarts, over fifty years ago, another Dark Wizard had gained control over much of the European mainland. The European ministries had tried to negotiate with Grindelwald, giving him more and more power, and when the war finally broke out they still had not seen it coming. The mistakes the wizard governments had made resulted in years of devastation, especially after the muggles were drawn into the conflict.

  
It was then, seeing how easily the peace-loving establishment was fooled, that Voldemort – still going by the name of Tom Riddle then – realized he was destined to be more powerful than anyone else.

  
After he had left the orphanage he grew up in and arrived at Hogwarts it had not taken him long to discover his amazing talents for wizardry. The praise he received from his professors – both for his great accomplishments with magic and his unquestionable behavior – always made him feel superior to the other students at Hogwarts, who were fumbling with the simplest of spells. When he first came to Hogwarts the headmaster told him how his muggle father had betrayed him and his mother, and he decided to avenge himself right then. However, it was not until he first heard about Grindelwald that his ambition became to be the greatest Dark Wizard ever.

  
He started studying the Dark Arts avidly after that. With his spotless reputation it was not hard to get his hands on the many resources Hogwarts had to offer, and after he found out how to get around the ministry's underage magic regulation methods he could practice during the holidays too.

  
He had not made many friends during his time at Hogwarts, so when he disappeared after his graduation no one really noticed. The moment the graduation ceremony was over he apparated to Little Hangleton and killed the Riddle family. He travelled around the world for many years after that, using many different names, meeting many shady figures of the wizarding underworld. He spent all his time learning new spells and gathering powerful magical items, not hesitating if he had to kill to get them. He practiced the most obscure and evil forms of magic, and when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort he had filled his purse with a fortune in galleons, and his head with an even greater fortune in knowledge and skills.

  
When the first dead bodies started to appear the ministry had been completely at a loss for what to do. There had not been any serious trouble since Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald, and no one – or almost no one – had foreseen that there would be another Dark Lord in their lifetime. When the Ministry of Magic finally began to take effective action, Voldemort had already gathered a veritable army of dark wizards and creatures. The ministry had been weak then, as they had been with Grindelwald, and apparently it was the same now.

  
Voldemort decided to wait before he made any more plans. He needed a lot more information: did Dumbledore know of his return? And, if he did, why hadn't the ministry alerted the rest of the world yet?  


***  


"Respirato!" A high-pitched voice echoed through the cavernous, winding corridors.

  
Immediately the air, that had been so full of dust and spores Lord Voldemort could hardly breathe, became as clear as the air on a mountaintop in spring. Voldemort inhaled deeply.

  
He was standing in an old crypt under the ruins of a muggle church. There were human skulls and bones sticking out of the walls and floor here and there, and the place was heavy with a dark, gloomy atmosphere. Voldemort felt right at home.

  
He had used this place to hold meetings before, but he was sure only he himself and a few Death Eaters knew of it, so it was quite safe. He took his timeteller out of his pocket; a small circular device with over a dozen tiny rotating globes inside of it. A glance told him he wouldn't have to wait much longer.

  
Voldemort heard footsteps slowly winding their way down the stairs that led into the crypt. He shivered with anticipation; he had been looking forward to this meeting. He wondered what he would learn.

  
A single hooded Death Eater appeared round the corner of the corridor Voldemort was standing in. He stopped at a respectable distance, then knelt and said: "My Lord… you can't imagine how happy I was to hear of your return." He looked up at his master's face for a moment, and then lowered his head again. "I pray you understand my situation… I could not come when you summoned me. I am, as always, forever at your service," he concluded.

  
Voldemort was astounded at his courage, or perhaps it was simply foolishness. He acted as though no fourteen years had passed, during which he had been working for the Dark Lord's greatest enemy.

  
When Voldemort spoke, it was with such a horrible hiss that the kneeled figure shrunk back a bit. "Sseveruss Ssnape…" Voldemort looked down at him for a few seconds, and then suddenly, before Snape could even blink his eyes, the Dark Lord had his wand out and Snape was smashed into the wall of the crypt. Several skulls fell from the wall and rolled over the floor with a clattering sound. Snape remained pinned to the wall, nervously glancing from the corners of his eyes at a very sharp bone jutting out millimetres from his neck.

  
Voldemort walked towards Snape, and stopped with his gleaming red eyes inches from Snape's. He said: "I am most disappointed in you, Severus. Most disappointed…" Snape didn't try to move, and kept quiet. "You, always such a useful servant, failed me the worst when it really mattered. You knew all about my attempt to get the Philosopher's Stone, but you didn't try to find me. You hung around in your comfortable castle, teaching mudbloods, cosying up to Dumbledore!" Voldemort's voice had grown steadily louder and higher and now turned into a violent screech. "You betrayed me, Severus! You turned over to my enemy when I needed you most, and now I doubt whether you were ever truly loyal."

  
Snape opened his mouth, which appeared to take some effort. "My Lord," he started, but before he could say any more Voldemort lowered his wand, causing Snape to fall to the ground, and said: "Crucio!"

Voldemort laughed as he saw Snape writhing in pain, as he had seen so many do before. "Tell me it's true! You are a traitor, and I know it!" he yelled over the sound of Snape's screams. "You are a filthy mudblood-lover, aren't you, Snape!"

Snape gasped loudly several times, trying to talk. Finally, he managed to scream out: "NO! I… no! Never!" That was all he managed. Voldemort stopped the Cruciatus curse. He decided to try a different tactic.

  
With a flick of his wand Snape, now laying limply on the ground, was raised into the air again. Voldemort stood close, stared into his eyes, and mouthed wordlessly: "Legilimens."

  
Snape didn't turn his head or close his eyes, but he stared determinedly into the Dark Lords snake-like slits. Voldemort saw a rush of images, and he began to filter out what he wanted to see. 

  
First, he saw a tired-looking Snape in front of a roaring fire. Dumbledore's head was in the fire, telling Snape that Voldemort had disappeared. The memory was followed immediately by another one; Snape standing alone in a dark room, screaming in anger.

  
Next he saw Snape talking to Rodolphus Lestrange, discussing plans to find their master. Snape was telling Lestrange that he had to stay at Hogwarts, that he would be able to find out more there.

  
Finally, he could see a series of memories involving Harry Potter. Harry Potter in his first Potion's class… Harry Potter playing quidditch… Harry Potter in the company of a girl and a red-haired boy, talking to a man Voldemort recognized as Sirius Black, pointing their wands at Snape. And Voldemort felt Snape's hatred towards the boy was so intense it nearly outstripped his own, and he knew Snape had to be on his side.

  
Voldemort took a step backwards, and he put his wand away. Snape slumped to the ground again, where he lay panting for a moment before struggling up on his knees. He remained kneeled respectfully, and again he said: "My Lord, I am here only to serve you."

  
Voldemort nodded. "I believe you. Stand up," he ordered. Snape got to his feet a little unsteadily. He looked straight into Voldemort's eyes again, who said: "Perhaps you are loyal after all. Continue to serve me well, and you will live. But remember: I will keep an eye on you." Snape bowed slightly in response. Voldemort continued: "In fact, you couldn't have come at a better time. I need information, Severus. I need to know what happened to Barty Crouch, and how much Dumbledore knows."

  
Voldemort conjured a chair for himself, leaving Snape standing in front of him. "Tell me what you know," he commanded.  


"I'm very sorry to say that Potter made it back to Hogwarts safely," Snape began. Voldemort could see that he was still shaken and surprised by the Dark Lord's sudden turn from violent torture to matter-of-fact interrogation. Snape continued to say: "Bartemius Crouch was given a Dementor's kiss after he was caught trying to kill Potter, but not before he was interrogated by Dumbledore personally."  


"So Dumbledore knows everything," Voldemort said gnashing his teeth.  


"I'm afraid so, My Lord. There is some good news, however. The only ones present at Crouch's interrogation were Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall and myself. The Dementor got him before anyone else could hear his confession – Dumbledore was not happy about that," Snape said.  


"What about Fudge? He was there for the Tournament, wasn't he?" Voldemort asked.

  
" Indeed he was," Snape said smiling darkly. "I saw it happen, it was quite amusing really. The blustering idiot didn't believe Potter, and since Crouch was unable to relate his story again…"

  
Voldemort looked doubtful, and said: "But didn't Dumbledore manage to convince Fudge?"

  
Snape scoffed. "That is the good news, My Lord. It seems that Fudge has finally decided he can run things on his own, and there is a definite breach between him and Dumbledore. He appears to think Dumbledore is loosing his mind for believing Potter on his word."

  
Voldemort was smiling now, showing rather long and pointy fangs. "That is good news. I have heard about Fudge's behaviour, but I didn't dare to believe he would go so far… We could benefit greatly from this. To see my enemies divided without any effort on my part, it is more than I could have hoped for." He turned again to Snape, more serious now, and said: "What about Dumbledore? How did he react to this?"

  
Snape responded: "He was angry, of course, though he didn't show it. This changes everything, he said, so he must have been counting on Fudge."

  
" Very good," Voldemort cackled, "and what can you tell me about Dumbledore's plans? What has he done after he heard of my return?"

  
" I don't know the whole of it, but after the task he sent someone of to inform 'the others,' presumably members of his 'order'. It was Sirius Black," Snape said with a heavy scowl on his face.

  
" Ah, yes," Voldemort hissed. "Wormtail told me all about him. An animagus, and Potter's godfather, isn't he?"

  
" That's right. The ministry is still after him, so he can't show himself in public, but Dumbledore trusts him."

  
Voldemort thought about this for a second, and then continued to question Snape. "What about Dumbledore's other supporters? How many do you think he will be able to convince I am back?"

  
Snape answered: "If the ministry continues to deny it, he might have some trouble. Still, Dumbledore can be very – persuasive. I can't give you any names you do not know already, but I might be able to find out more. Dumbledore trusts me more than he did fourteen years ago."

  
" Is that all you can tell me?" said Voldemort.

  
" Yes, My Lord… for now," said Snape.

  
" If you have more information you can contact me through DeWitt. Try to find out whatever Dumbledore is doing to oppose me. You can leave." Snape bowed, then straightened and turned to walk away, when Voldemort said: "Oh, and Snape? Remember; serve me well, or else…" He made a short jabbing motion with his wand, causing Snape to feel a sharp pain shoot through him. Snape winced and said: "Of course, My Lord." Then he turned and disappeared around the corner.

***  



	4. Palantír

**Chapter 4 - Palantír**

A week after their first meeting the Dark Lord was again standing in the field where he had met his council. He was preparing for their arrival, which should be any moment.   
  


First, Voldemort created an invisibility area that would conceal the Death Eaters and himself while they talked. Then, he cast a very strong Illusion Charm that would make anyone affected by it believe they were in a small cabin, sitting on chairs around a table, while they were really just standing inside the invisibility area. It was the same combination of spells Voldemort had used last time; he had found them particularly useful as the illusion spell could not be detected and would only affect who Voldemort wanted it to.  


Voldemort entered his own illusion and sat down at the head of the table. He had ordered his Death Eaters to meet him again because, with Snape's information, he could finally put his plans in to motion.  


Seconds later several cloaked figures entered the room; the illusion activated when they spoke his password: 'Mordsmordre'. When everyone had taken their bows and their seat two seats were left empty: that of Macnair, who had departed to Central Asia to find the giants, and that of Morgan, who was had reported to Voldemort the day before and was now executing his plans to gain the dementor's support. That left Malfoy, who had been with Voldemort from the beginning of his rise to power, DeWitt, a friendly and jovial man to the outside world, but secretly as vicious as any of Voldemorts followers, Avery, who was too slow-witted to be really powerful, but very loyal. Then there was Nott, who was quite good with a wand, but had never had an original thought in his live, and Ulyanov, the oldest of Voldemort's Death Eaters; a Russian who had had to flee his country after massacring dozens of wizards and muggles at a Magic- and Non-magic Peoples Cooperation Conference. Lastly at the far end of the table across Avery sat Gravely, a surly individual of whom even Voldemort didn't know the entire story of his live.  


Apart from the two empty seats the room was exactly the same as the week before. Voldemort sat tapping his long skeletal fingers together. On the table in front of him stood a rather large wooden box, carved with simple geometric figures.  


Every one of the Death Eaters was looking at Voldemort intently, waiting for him to speak. Voldemort decided to start with the most important, and leave other issues for later. He began: "Now that I have some more information about the plans of my enemy -" he nodded slightly at DeWitt, who had arranged the meeting with Snape - "I have decided it is safe enough to secretly start to execute some of my plans. There is one thing in particular that I absolutely must obtain if we are ever to defeat our weak-willed enemies."  


The Death Eaters looked at him curiously, but remained quiet, so he continued: "You might want to know why I haven't tried to get such a powerful tool before. The fact is that I only learned of it this year. You'll remember I told you that Barty Crouch was at Hogwarts to deliver me Harry Potter – he is dead, by the way, but then I didn't really expect him to survive his mission. What most of you probably do not know is that he impersonated this year's Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, who we managed to capture over a year ago: Alastor Moody." All the Death Eaters looked surprised, except Malfoy, who had apparently guessed as much, having heard about Moody being at Hogwarts from his son. The surprise was quickly followed by angry mumbles and scoffs, as Moody had been responsible for the deaths or capture of many of their fellow Death Eaters. Nott even mumbled: "Serves him well!"  


Voldemort said: "You can imagine what a wealth of information I could have extracted from Moody. Unfortunately, I did not have my full power then, and Moody turned out to be very well prepared. It took an Imperiatus curse, hours of torture, three Truth charms and my best legilimency to get something out of him, and even then there was only one thing he would let slip – apparently he didn't think it was very important, or else he would have found a way to keep it from me. Of course," he said, his gleaming eyes sweeping over the Death Eaters, "I was disappointed that none of my Death Eaters had ever seen fit to tell me this. He told me there was a room in the Department of Mysteries where all important divinations are kept, that in that room there was a shelve, and that on that shelve was the full record of a prophecy concerning me and," he said with a scowl, "Harry Potter."  


"Over thirteen years ago I was told such a prophecy had been made. I was told a boy would be born to parents that had stood against me – and lived – three times, that this boy was to defeat me if I didn't kill him first. As you all know, this information turned out to be wrong," Voldemort said looking at Gravely. He was the one who had gotten the faulty information from an informant and told his master. Voldemort had thought about punishing him for this, but decided against it. He had better things to do.  


Voldemort continued the story, because not all the Death Eaters knew the full of it. "I killed the boy's father and his mother effortlessly, and tried to dispatch the boy. But while the most powerful wizards died instantly at the flick of my wand, this boy survived, and the curse rebounded on me. I discovered later that he was protected by a strong magical tie with his mother, who had sacrificed her life for him. It was foolish of me to oversee it, I admit that… I suffered greatly for it."  


The Dark Lord gave his council members a menacing look. A few of them shuddered slightly. They knew their master had not forgiven them for failing to find him.  


After a slight pause Voldemort continued: "I had more than ten years to think about what happened before I saw Harry Potter again. How could I have been brought down by a pathetic little boy and his mudblood mother? Then, in his first year at Hogwarts, Harry Potter stopped me from getting the Philosopher's Stone – still protected by his mother's sacrifice – and two weeks ago he escaped me again. How could this be possible?"  


None of the Death Eaters was going to answer the rhetorical question, so Voldemort said: "I realized that the answer to this question could be more important than anything. And after I questioned Moody I know where to find the answer. There is only one way to find out what really was prophesised – save capturing and questioning Albus Dumbledore – and that is to go into the Ministry of Magic and to take the only existing record of the prophecy."  


Voldemort looked around, fixing his eyes on each of the Death Eaters in turn. MacNair might have been best suited to find out more about the prophecy – being a Ministry official – but as he was somewhere in Nepal the last time the Dark Lord had heard from him he would have to delegate the task to someone else. He considered it for a moment, and then said: "Avery. I want you to find out how to get to the prophecy. All I know is that it is kept in the Department of Mysteries. Malfoy can get you into the Ministry if you need to."  


Avery looked absolutely shocked at the thought of having to do this. "But – but master," he sputtered. "The Department of Mysteries! How am I supposed to find out what's going on in that place?" When he realised what he had said he looked even more shocked in fear of his master's reaction.  


"I would have thought, Avery, that I had sufficiently impressed upon you the importance of this prophecy," Voldemort hissed. Avery nodded shakily. "Then you also know what will happen when you don't come up with something to get it for me," said Voldemort cruelly.  


Avery muttered something incoherent. Then he got a grip on himself and said: "I will do everything I can, My Lord."  


"I know you will, Avery," Voldemort concluded the issue. "Now, the next order of business. I have decided we need a better way to communicate. Any conventional magical communication may be discovered by our enemies, so I have created… this."  


Voldemort opened the box that had been standing on the table in front of him. He tilted it a bit, so that the others could see what was inside it. The box was filled with small globes that appeared to be made of some kind of glass or crystal.  


Voldemort smiled. He was quite proud of his new invention. He had to wait for Wormtail to get him supplies before he could start to work on them, and it had taken him days to make them – not all that long in the magic world, but he was not a very patient wizard, and what took mere mortals years to achieve usually only cost the Dark Lord a few hours. The globes were like crystal balls, but they were small enough to fit into the palm of one's hand. They were filled with a filthy brown-green smoke that formed into a grinning skeleton if you held the ball still long enough, then dissolved again when you moved it.  


Voldemort raised his hand, and six of the balls lifted out of the box and flew into the waiting hands of the Death Eaters. Voldemort said: "You will keep it with you at al times. You can use it to contact me at any time, but only if I allow it. This one," he removed a seemingly identical ball from his robes, "allows me to see through each of yours whenever I wish it."  


Crystal balls were usually only used in divination, but these were rare and powerful magical items that Voldemort had enchanted with a strong Protean charm and a touch of his own personal magic. He had actually gotten the idea to use crystal balls as a communication device from a muggle book he had read when he was young – not that he was usually inclined to take ideas from muggle books, but he thought this was a rather useful one.  


Voldemort bared his fangs in a small smile as he looked around the table. "Let's try it out, shall we?" He said. He placed his ball on the table in front of him, waited for the Dark Mark to form, and put his hand on it.  


Immediately the balls in the hands of the Death Eaters seemed to burst as the greenish smoke billowed from it, materializing into the shape of the Dark Lord's head. The smoke changed colour, so that six red-eyed, pale, snakelike faces hovered in the cabin, one over each of the crystal balls, staring at the Death Eater holding it.  


"A beautiful piece of work, isn't it?" Voldemort asked, and the room filled with his high-pitched voice as the words flowed from seven different mouths, each face copying Voldemort's expression exactly. The Death Eaters seemed quite impressed, even though they had seen many displays of their master's power. "It is, My Lord," they chorused.  


Voldemort removed his hand from the ball, and in a swirl of smoke the faces retreated into their collective containers. He pocketed his ball and told the others to do the same. Voldemort sighed. With all important business taken care of it took more than two hours before all his followers had related how they had been working to achieve his second rise to greatness. When they were done he declared the meeting over and returned to his Transsylvanian hiding place.  


***  



End file.
